


Mornings

by BrotatochipDG



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Like Emotionally, M/M, Sexy Times, They are so in love, Tuckington - Freeform, post-chorus, rvb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrotatochipDG/pseuds/BrotatochipDG
Summary: Wash is fine. He’s there, he’s present, he’s very tired. He’s ready to go back inside now.





	Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> Sexy times included! First time ever writing anything even remotely smutty so please do not judge too hard. Also Tuckington can cure cancer, I’m pretty sure.

Wash took a deep breath, the air filling his lungs through a filter on his helmet. Fresh air wasn’t a luxury he could afford if it meant a bullet through his head.

He rolled his neck and closed his eyes, pretending he was young again, and on the beach with his sisters splashing and screeching a few feet away from him, and he had a popsicle melting down his arm and about 80 layers of sunscreen that still wouldn’t stop his fragile white skin from turning a brilliant red later that night. 

He opened his eyes again, back to the present. It was easy to feel wistful about the past, these days, because laying dormant meant that he had nothing to distract himself with.

Wash heard a sigh from behind him. 

“Wash…why are you in your armor?”

Tucker walked up behind him, eyes tired and pajama pants hung low on his hips. Wash stared at the Sangheili tattoos covering his torso, traveling up his body and disappearing behind his shoulders.

Displeased with only a blank stare as a response, he stepped carefully toward the ex-agent.

“Wash, you gotta say something to me man. You sleepwalking again? Or you had a nightmare? Come on, dude, you gotta talk to me.”

“I, uh.” Wash started and stopped, surprised by his raspy voice. “I needed to check the perimeter.”

Tucker’s eyes saddened before he sighed again, although this time he didn’t sound quite so put upon.

“C’mon, man. Let’s go back inside.”

Tucker gently led Wash back inside, careful not to push or force him into sudden movements. He brought him to the kitchen, where he put on a pot of coffee after coaxing Wash to sit down. 

“Alright, can we do helmet off? Or do you need it on?”

Wash forced himself to focus, to stop staring at the scratch on the hardwood floor that he left after a particularly bad incident where he attempted to stab Maine in the middle of breakfast. 

Mornings really should stop being this hard.

He unlatched the helmet, setting it next to him on the counter just in case he’d need it. He looked up at Tucker, eyes focusing and un-focusing and purple bags filling the space underneath them.

The coffee finished boiling and Tucker filled Wash’s favorite mug (Caboose had got it for him, it said ‘bestest leder evr, don’t tell Church’ and Wash teared up a little when he got it) with the stuff and poured a mountain of sugar into it. 

“Here, babe. Can I touch you? Is it settling down?”

Tucker set the mug in front of Wash, who grasped it with numb fingers. He took a long gulp, satisfied at how it was so sweet and how Tucker knew the exact ratio he needed. He sighed.

“Yeah, Tucker. I think I’m, uh. Doing a little better.”

Tucker walked up behind Wash and placed his fingers on his temples, massaging for a bit before curling back into his hair, rubbing his scalp and gently unworking knots in the soft blonde hair.

Wash let out a soft moan, and slumped forward, closing his eyes.

“I’m so sick of this, Tucker. I just want to be normal again.”

Tucker turned the older mans face up toward him, and gently brushed his thumb across his face, catching the tear that Wash didn’t realize he’d shed. 

“Normal is overrated, dude. I have a goddamn alien for a kid. If I was normal, I wouldn’t have Junior, and that’d be a fucking tragedy. If you were normal, you never would’ve met me, or Caboose, or the Reds. What would Sarge have done if we didn’t gain a competent leader to fight against?”

Wash cracked a grin at that, and started to laugh softly. Tucker’s hands drifted down to Wash’s neck, fingers lightly brushing against his scar, gently working out the ball of stress that permanently resides behind it. 

“You ready to get out of the armor, Wash?”

The former freelancer nodded his head slowly, and let Tucker drag him into their bedroom. He helped Tucker when he needed to, raising his arms and legs when instructed as he let the man take care of him. One by one, pieces clunked to the floor until he heard the last bit clang on the floor.

Tucker let out a laugh in surprise.

“Wash, you’re not even wearing anything underneath. How does that not chafe your junk?”

Wash gave a sheepish shrug. 

“I wasn’t wearing clothes when I went to bed last night, you know that.”

Tucker gave him a cheeky grin, before uttering an equally cheeky “Bow-chicka-bow-wow.”

Wash laughed and obliged while Tucker pulled a pair of (aquamarine-teal-greenish blue? Who knows) boxers up Wash’s hips. He softly nudged him towards the bed, and Wash flopped down on it.

“Go to sleep, man. I’ll be right here with you. Just please try and get some rest.”

Wash closed his eyes as Tucker slid up behind him, enveloping him in a soft embrace. He felt the weight of their navy blue comforter settle on top of his exhausted form, and tried his best to fall asleep.

Tucker hummed a nonsensical tune as he pressed gentle kisses on his neck and behind his ear, arms circled around Wash, who he knew liked to feel comfort and hated quiet when he was trying to sleep.

A very long time later, Tucker felt Wash’s breath settle, and he readjusted then so that Wash was laying on his chest and Tucker had one arm wrapped around his shoulders. He pressed a light kiss to his forehead. 

Mornings with Wash were never consistent. Some days he’d wake to kisses pressed against his neck, and an ‘I love you I love you I love you’ flowed from Wash’s mouth in a constant stream. 

Sometimes he’d wake up with a mouth wrapped around his dick, Wash softly humming and letting out a peal of laughter when Tucker whimpers and threads his fingers through his hair.

Some mornings Wash would wake up sobbing, uncontrollable and Tucker had to help him breathe again, doing all he can not to panic because Tucker panicking only make Wash feel like shit later.

And some were like this one, where Wash got a little confused about where he was and who he was and when it was and he threw on the armor and stood on the porch for sometimes hours, shoulders tense.

Tucker knew how to handle every type of morning by now, and every type of night as well so when Wash started to stir from an inevitable nightmare, Tucker just pulled him closer in and shushed him, repeating “you’re Wash, you’re okay, you’re here with me” over and over until Wash’s shoulders relaxed again and he fell back into a deep sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wash awoke for the second time that day, and judging by the sunlight peaking out through the windows it was probably around noon.

Tucker was gently rubbing circles into his arm with a faraway look in his eyes. Once he noticed Wash was moving, he looked down and smiled.

“Hey there, Wash. Feeling better?”

Wash moved out of Tucker’s grasp, letting him have his arm back. He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“Yeah, Tuck. I think I really needed some sleep. I’m so so-“

“No, no, no! No apologizing. We’ve been over this. Not your fault.”

Wash grunted in response, knowing if he tried to push it that they’d end up fighting, but still feeling guilty for ruining Tucker’s morning. He’d been doing that too often lately.

It was getting close to yet another anniversary of Epsilon’s death on Chorus, and it made everyone from the Reds and Blues feel off. 

Wash knew Simmons and Grif would be on vacation around this time, probably off in the Vegas quadrant to try and celebrate Church’s life and their own. He knew Carolina and Caboose would go on a picnic on the actual day, and tell stories about him (even if Caboose’s were in a pretty skewed viewpoint) and that Sarge, Lopez, and Donut would throw a big get together for everybody when Grif and Simmons got back. 

Every year like clockwork his friends went through this routine, and every year Wash had a couple of weeks where everything got a little worse before it got better again.

Which always made him feel guilty. Because this time of year should be hardest on Tucker, not on him. And he knew it was hard on him, because he’d catch Tucker crying softly in the bathroom, and he called Junior way too much during that time of year, and his smiles were a little too wide to be fully real.

Wash leaned up to Tucker, shifting to kiss him deeply before moving so that he was fully on top of him. Tucker kissed back, softly taking Wash’s lower lip between his teeth as he growled for more. They continued on for a bit, lazily pushing tongues into each other mouths and softly clutching at one another before Wash pulled away. 

“It’s tomorrow. You know that’s why it’s so bad. And I am sorry, not for freaking out on you, but because I know this time of year is hard on you too, and-“

Tucker gently pressed his lips against Wash’s again.

“I know, Wash. And I love you all the more for thinking of me while you’re dealing with your own shit, but I’m seriously fine. I’ll talk to Caboose about him tomorrow, and Grif and Simmons get back on Friday so you know we’ll get together soon. It’s gonna pass, for both of us.”

Tucker flipped them so he’s the one pinning Wash, and mouthed along until he reached his neck, avoiding the scar of his bullet wound and sucking and biting into the spot he knew made Wash’s toes curl.

Wash groaned in response, bucking his hips up against Tucker’s. He gripped his shoulders and thrust up a couple of desperate times, whining when Tucker leaned back in a way he couldn’t get any friction.

“Nope! Can’t take care of yourself, Wash. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He teasingly tweaked one of Wash’s nipples before continuing to plant kisses down his body, nose nuzzling into Wash’s light blonde happy trail as he pressed sloppy kisses to the outside of Wash’s boxers.

Wash couldn’t help but let out another whimper as he felt the press of a tongue through the thin fabric, and grasped the sheets as he gently ran his teeth over the bulge residing there.

Giving Wash some reprieve, he pulled the boxers down fully before pressing a light kiss on the head of his dick, and then licking a solid stripe up from the base.

Wash’s hands left the sheets and grasped Tucker’s head, careful not to push his head down.

Tucker looked up at him with mischievous eyes before swallowing his whole length down, and then bobbing his head with unrelenting speed. 

Oh, shit.

Wash sucked in a breath as Tucker’s cheeks hollowed in, sucking down Wash’s length in an unforgiving way, and god did Tucker know just how Wash liked it…

He pulled off with a pop, returning to gentle kisses up and down his shaft before swallowing it down again, hands gripping into Wash’s hips so hard they’d surely leave a bruise later. Wash loved it. 

“T-T-Tucker, oh fuck! Tucker! Stop, st-stop..”

Ticker pulled off immediately, eyes hazy but concerned. 

“You okay, Wash?”

Wash’s cheeks darkened. 

“Yeah! Yeah. Just, uh. Can I…?”

Tucker’s concerned gaze grew teasing, and he let out a laugh. 

“Yeah, bud. God, we’ve been together for how long now, and you still act like a virginal teenager every time we fuck.”

They’ve long since forgone condoms, tested and clean and only for each other, and Tucker luckily wouldn’t have to worry about getting pregnant again (yeah, normal would definitely never describe them) so all Tucker needed was the bottle of lube they kept in their bedside table. 

He squeezed out a bit on his fingers, warming it up, before lowering them and working one finger slowly into himself.

Wash’s breath hitched, knowing Tucker and knowing his proclivity for putting on shows, and just sat back to watch, loosely gripping his own dick.

Tucker moaned and slowly worked a second finger in, throwing his head back and rocking his body forward. Wash raised his hand up and started rubbing his thumb against Tucker’s nipple, making the man stutter in his movements for a second. 

After tilting his head back up he stared straight into Wash’s eyes, a third finger joining the others in working himself open in front of his former leader, and Tucker maintained eye contact through his stuttered breaths and quiet whines of pleasure. Wash continued to work Tucker’s nipples with darkened eyes.

After a minute or so of fingering himself open in front of Wash like a goddamn porn star, he slowly retracted the digits and crawled up into Wash’s lap. Aligning the hardened (and freckled) member, Tucker slowly pressed down, relishing in Wash’s guttural groaning as he fully seated himself.

Wash, ever the romantic, pulled Tucker’s head down once more in a pleading kiss as he rubbed both thumbs over his sensitive nipples.

Tucker released himself from Wash’s mouth, and pressed a hand against his chest, forcing him to lie flat. He slowly lifted himself up before slamming back down, causing both himself and Wash to cry out. 

He started at an excruciatingly slow place, eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, and Wash marveled for the millionth time at the fact that the crudest, most immature person when it came to discussing sex in public became such a sensual and romantic person in the bedroom.

“Tucker! T-Tuck, please move. Ple-oh god, yeah!”

The second Wash began to ask for more, Tucker stopped holding his chest down and slammed himself down on Wash’s dick. He lifted up, and Wash snapped his hips up to meet him as he came back down again.

They continued on at a solid pace for a few minutes, until Wash couldn’t take it anymore. He flipped them around (which Tucker was always impressed at how Wash could always do this without slipping out, Tucker fucked it up every time he tried) and continued to fuck himself into Tucker at a harsher speed.

Tucker grasped at Wash’s shoulders, letting out a short moan and every thrust was punctuated with a brush against his prostate. He sometimes couldn’t believe he used to be the kind of person scared of commitment. If you only fuck someone once, they’ll never get to the point where they know just where to kiss and just what to say and just how hard to-

Tucker shuddered as Wash slammed into him, starting to speed to a breakneck pace. The pale man grasped at his dick, pulling in sync with each thrust. Tucker’s brain started to fry.

“Wa-Wash!!!” Tucker cried out.

With a firm tug of his dick and a flick of Wash’s thumb over his slit, Tucker came with a cry.

Wash followed suit a few thrusts later with a soft grunt, and he leaned down to kiss and nip and Tucker’s neck.

He slowly pulled out of the younger man, kissing his forehead as he dashed to the bathroom to grab them a towel.

Wash wet a washcloth with warm water and glanced up at himself in the mirror.

White, raised lines travelled all around his body. Some were big and memorable (the ones on both the front and back of his neck, Christ he was fucked up) but most were easy to forget. Too many fights, too many scars to even begin to remember. Not that he’d want to.

Even living a civilian life with Tucker for years and going outside often in regular clothing, he hadn’t managed any sort of tan. He’d only managed to get more freckles stacked on top of his old ones. Tucker loved them.

There were still slight bags under his eyes, but nowhere near as bad as before. He knew that for a couple days there they’d looked like bruises and he could see the concern on Tucker’s face every time he looked into his eyes.

Wash’s hair was longer than it’d ever been in Freelancer, and it makes him proud because at first he kept cutting it regulation short because what if there was a fight but Tucker convinced him he’d be fine.

He likes his hair a little shaggy like this.

All things considered, Wash looked better than he had in a while, and he knew it was all thanks to Tucker. A decent amount of sleep and a relief from all that pent up tension really did wonders. 

He returned to bed with the cloth, gently cleaning off Tucker after cleaning off himself. He tossed the cloth into their nearby hamper and curled back into bed with Tucker, kissing gently behind his ear. 

Tucker had turned the TV on and had a faint smirk on his face. Wash turned his eyes to see what was so funny before snorting out a laugh himself.

‘Red Vs. Blue: the story of Chorus’ was on. The Earth-made film was a blockbuster hit, full of complete inaccuracies and misrepresentations. The gang liked to watch it every once in a while and play drinking games where they swig every time Caboose created a plan that saved them all or Grif took initiative before anyone else in the fight. They’d all be very drunk by the end, and holler and whistle at the screen at the end, when movie- Carolina and movie- Wash rip off their helmets and perform an over the top steamy kiss as the army of Chorus cheers behind them. 

Right now was the scene where Doc provides life saving medical care to wounded soldiers mid-battle, because in this movie Doc was actually competent instead of sawing off an arm to treat a cold, or just telling the bullet wounded soldiers to drink some orange juice. 

They watched the rest of the trash movie, laughing every now and again and scoffing at particularly distasteful inaccuracies. They burst out laughing, wiping away tears at the end, because the credit scene leaves out Doc and it’s so fitting it hurts. 

Wash looks over at Tucker’s face, and studies the soft crinkled lines in the corner of Tucker’s eyes, there from years of smiling and laughing at Wash’s dumb jokes.

He turns to face him completely, and brown eyes meet blue.

“I love you.”

Tucker chuckled and kissed Wash lightly.

“I love you too.”

Wash gives a cheesy grin, and thanks whatever god is up there that while mornings may not always be easy, at least they’re with Tucker.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I need RVB to come back soon guys, I’m really losing it here.


End file.
